the gilded cage
by blue and gold
Summary: All–seeing eyes are often the most deceitful. [The Hyūga Clan]
1. zephyr, inferno, tempest

_**the gilded cage**_

_by __blue and gold_

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Naruto._

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_1. zephyr / inferno / tempest_

Neji moves as though he is made of air, with impossible elegance for someone who is a shinobi. He has the strength and force of a March gale, the grace of a teasing October breeze, and the subtleness of an evening June zephyr. When a moment demands the need for strength, he is the one to give it; but when a situation calls for a delicate touch, he can provide it, too. It should be impossible, really, for someone to be so utterly talented—_to be made of air_—but Neji somehow manages.

But while Neji is of the air, Hanabi likens herself to fire. Flames that curl and swirl and ascend to the heavens, with colors of amaranth and gamboge and aureolin, and burn—_but not to ashes—_not brilliantly, but silently. Hanabi can raze what she pleases, and only in her quietest moments will she nurture with a quiet, understated warmth—but it is a thin line to toe, and Hanabi often finds herself burning things to ashes and embers when all she meant to do was help and—_perhaps_—care.

And if Hanabi is fire, that Hinata must be water. She is soft and understated, rarely seen even when she is pristinely clear, like the soft babbling of a brook, or the gentle sound of waves lapping against a lake's shore. _(But, Hinata can be frightening when she desires to be, and reckless when she does not mean to be, like a midsummer downpour, or a tempest in a rough sea.) _But after the storm has past, Hinata is calm and placid as a puddle, reflecting the clear blue of a morning sky.

_(It is a different kind of strength, each their own.)_

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_I have returned. Sort of. (I didn't know that I was even gone.)_

_Anyway, this is a new set of drabbles / stories I'll be working on, revolving around the members of the Hyūga Clan. I'm...apathetic about this first drabble, but hopefully they'll get better with time._

_Review? (Reviews make me happy, and who doesn't like being happy, really?)_


	2. a quiet sort of spectacle

**_the gilded cage_**

_by blue and gold_

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_2. a quiet sort of spectacle_

The sky is a dull, violet tinged with soft blue, bleeding black as the sun fades in brilliant hues to the west. If she was an artist—_like Sai-kun—_than she would paint it, with delicate brush strokes and gentle swirls, with soft colors and fading shadows.

But, she thinks that she would much prefer to paint a sunrise, rays of dawning light and harmonious hope coloring the sky in vibrant shades of coral and cerise and sunglow, _(like Naruto-kun, who smiles like sunshine and laughs like the wind, who makes her heart soar and her head—)_

"Onē-sama."

Hinata turns, jittery and nervous, from her seat on the porch steps, because, "Oh—_Oh,_ I—I—Imōto-sa—sama, I—I didn't—" she winces and cowers, because she sounds pathetic to her own ears, "—I—I didn't see you there," she finishes, soft and quiet in her silent downfall.

Hanabi stands, tall and powerful and commanding, and she is a frightening sort of strong, and all sorts of strong that Hinata knows she will never be, but wishes she was. The girl—_she is a girl, somewhere down in the depths of her soul, she is a child_—stares down at her, with pale eyes, and says, "I can tell," and then sits down next to her, rigid and straight as a poll.

The silence is suffocating and thin, and Hinata feels as though she is being pressed down upon, but that the slightest movement might shatter it, like a stone thrown into the still surface of a cerulean lake.

And all the while Hanabi sits, on the steps of their childhood, and does not breathe a word.

(It dawns on Hinata that, perhaps, it is _her_ job to speak. _Her_ job to inquire.) So she does. "A—Ah." She feels her fingers twiddle and fiddle, like they did when she was a slip of a child with gaunt skin and a hesitant smile. "—I—Imōto—to-sama, is—is everything…al—alright…?"

Hanabi turns sharply, and stares at this girl who is everything less than herself, but somehow more, and the questions burn blisters on her tongue, because _how could you do it? How are you able to go on (without the clan. Without Otō-sama. Without us.)? How did you do it? Howhowhowhowhow?_

But, Hanabi doubts that Hinata even knows herself, so she locks the questions up in a box, and she hides the key within herself, and she shakes her head, briskly, and says, "What would make you think that."

Hinata's face burns embarrassing crimson, and she shakes her head, ashamed, and says, "n—nothing, Imō—Imōto-sa—sama," because, _stupid girl, why would she need your help?_ And she feels foolish. She feel so very, _very_ foolish, so she stands and says, with a bowed head, "I—I—I'll be g—going, now, I—Imō—Imōto-sama," and she flees, her feet echoing across the wooden planks of the veranda.

Hanabi does not watch her leave, but she imagines that she can see her face just fine, and instead watches the last light of day bleed black into night.

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A/N: Well, I like this better than the last one, so. (A work in progress.)

...Review?


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